


A Tidal Wave of What It Means to Be Alive

by InsertSthMeaningful



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, F/F, Fluff, Future Skin on Krakoa, Outdoor Sex, Resurrection, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:22:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26748010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertSthMeaningful/pseuds/InsertSthMeaningful
Summary: When Krakoa finally brings Irene back, Raven is out of her mind with joy. A tad of afternoon delight, some heartfelt conversations and a slightly embarrassing run-in ensue...
Relationships: Irene Adler (X-Men)/Raven | Mystique
Comments: 12
Kudos: 20
Collections: X-Men Kink Meme 2020





	A Tidal Wave of What It Means to Be Alive

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [XMen_Kink_Meme_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/XMen_Kink_Meme_2020) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  Just Raven and Irene being loving with each other. Something light and soft.  
> Bonus for explicit smut.  
> Bonus for Kurt and Rogue as their kids.
> 
> Beta-read by the author themselves, so feel free to point out any errors. Many thanks to Jacky for organising this event and to the prompter who suggested Destique!

After Irene’s resurrection, Raven is all smiles and loud, joyous laughter.

“Irenie, my Irenie,” she tells Irene and kisses her mouth, her cheeks, the tip of her nose with her oh-so soft and searing lips, “I have waited for you for so long. I thought I would never see you again.”

“And yet for me it is but a heartbeat since we last spoke each other, my dearest,” Irene replies, herself surprised by the steadiness of her voice even though she feels like singing, like floating, like a bird will burst free from between her ribs any moment now and soar off into the balmy air of open sky. “Muir Island then, Krakoa now – some things never change.”

“Except that you will not die on _this_ island, my love. Not if I have a say in it.” Raven’s voice is wild, raucous - the growl of a lioness defending what is hers. Irene can feel the shape of her frown beneath her fingers where they are cupping her wife’s cheeks, probably smearing them all over with resurrection liquid, but neither of them can bring themselves to care.

“I know.” Irene smiles into the darkness of her new, her rejuvenated, her wonderful life. “Raven Darkhölme… I know.”

The Five and Charles usher them out of Arbor Magna soon after, with the excuse of still having to bring back many more lost mutants this day. And Irene certainly can’t complain: She enjoys the warmth of Krakoa’s tropical sunshine on her face, relishes the slight breeze ruffling her hair which is already drying.

Raven brought Irene’s favourite bathing gown to her resurrection, the long, flowing one sewn from a cotton-silk-blend. It’s always agreeably cool against her bare skin, never coarse or irritating – and it has pockets, stable ones which won’t make the fabric strain any time Irene so much as puts a feather in them.

“You know I love you, right?” she says, Raven’s elbow in one hand and her cane folded together in the other. It must be late morning, what with the grass still wetting her bare feet with dew whenever they pass a shady spot.

Raven laughs, melodious and careless. “And I love you, you ridiculous goose. Whyever did you have to run off that day and get yourself killed by Charles’ son?”

Irene pauses in her steps and waits until Raven has followed her example before she grasps for her wife’s hands and holds them tightly between hers. “Destiny. I had to follow my destiny, no matter how much pain it would cause you. It was the only outcome, and I swear by God that if there had been any other way – a _better_ way – I wouldn’t have hesitated to walk it.”

Raven is silent. There is birdsong filtering through the air, sweet, lilting, and the distant crashing of waves on naked rock. Heady scents are wafting over them, jasmine and wet soil and an underlying note of something Irene can’t pinpoint – a scent which is uniquely Krakoan.

When Raven speaks, it’s with a judder in her voice. Her thumbs, dry and warm, massage tiny circles into the backs of Irene’s hands.

“Losing you – it was like losing myself. There were times when I forgot who I really was, what I should look like in the mirror, what kind of life I had led before. But I am better now that you are back.” She shifts her weight, and Irene gets the faint impression of eyelashes ghosting over her cheekbones, the press of lips to the corner of her mouth.

Sighing, she leans into it. “There was a probability… a chance. That you would not succeed in bringing me back.”

“But I did. I did and everything will be a piece of cake from now on, right?” Raven has her arms slung over Irene’s shoulders now, her body warm and alive where it presses up against Irene’s belly. “ _Right?_ ”

Irene can’t help the grin tugging at her mouth. “Raven – my _beautiful_ Raven – you _know_ predictions such as this cannot be made easily. They’re too imprecise, too fickle about the slightest change. But I can tell you one thing – namely that we will spend a _very_ nice afternoon together if you take my arm now and lead me down the next path that goes off to the right.”

“Oh. _Oh_.” And of course, Raven doesn’t hesitate to do as Irene tells her, her grip firm and tender as she starts steering them through the whispering grass. “I didn’t know you already got Krakoa to grow you a home. I thought you would move in with me – I already bought the chocolate-chip breakfast cereal you like!”

“You’re a dear,” Irene hums and slips her cane into the pockets of her bathing gown. She won’t need it for what comes next. “But for now, just lead the way and see.”

When they finally emerge from what must be the dense thicket of the Krakoan woods – the sea wind singing in the leaves overhead, critters chirping and scratching over bark, the play of shadow-cool and sun-warmth on Irene’s upturned face – Raven snorts.

“Well played, Irenie, well played.” Her skin shifts smoothly under Irene’s grip, the rustle of fabric in the breeze replaced with a short whisper of scales and then nothing. Irene almost regrets the sight she is missing out on – her wife, bare and blue and proud in front of what has to be an emerald backdrop teeming with life – but it’s not for nothing that she has hands to explore and lips to taste.

So, as her nimble fingers go to work at the knot tying the front of her bathing gown together, she shrugs and smiles sweetly. “Krakoa is for all mutants, isn’t it? Don’t worry about being seen – I’ve sounded out the near future. No one will disturb us here for a very, very long time.”

And that’s all it takes for Raven to moan, “Gosh, I _love_ you!” and take Irene’s face between her hands, pressing their lips together until their lungs yearn for breath, until Irene’s insides feel like she’s burning up – a shooting star in the brilliant dark of night.

“Take me,” she groans, her hands kneading Raven’s perfectly round buttocks to press their pelvises together, “reclaim me, make me yours.”

“Here?” Raven whispers into her mouth, lips spit-slick.

Irene’s knees are liquefying from the thrills of pleasure unfolding between her legs. She takes one hand from her wife’s gorgeously shaped behind to yank at her bathrobe and pull it off her shoulders, away from her body so she can feel Raven’s glorious nakedness directly against her own skin. “Here, now, anywhere.”

“Alright then,” Raven breathes, her words vibrant with delight. “Over there looks comfortable.”

Foreboding makes Irene shake her head. “No. You’ll complain about ants half-way through if we go that way. Take me… to that spot on eleven o’clock.”

“And this is why I missed you.” Irene laughs at that, and Raven swats her playfully. “No, really. Without you there, my life was just one big nuisance. No one to tell me where to go, what to do – I was lost, utterly lost!” she crows as she walks them through the long, gentle grass and stops them where it's replaced by a dense carpet of forest herbs.

Irene breathes in the scent of Krakoa, revels in the slide of her bathing robe against her skin as she shucks all the way out of it and spreads it on the forest floor where Raven tugs it into place. The breeze is warm and welcoming.

“But I am here now,” she murmurs, hands reaching out for those of her wife and finding them. “And I’ll never leave again.”

Gently, Raven tugs her down onto their makeshift love nest. “You’ve foreseen that?”

Beneath Irene’s searching, seeking hands, she’s yielding, pliable. So unlike the roaring warrior Irene remembers from the battlefield, from Freedom Force and the days before that.

“I haven’t. I just know.”

Her splayed fingers shift as Raven’s ribcage expands in a sigh.

“Trust me,” Irene insists with a whisper, and then she’s surging forward – a tidal wave of what it means to be alive – fingers tangling in Raven’s silk hair, her mouth on those perfectly formed breasts, that sinuous flesh, drinking in the moans that spill from above her until all she feels and tastes and hears is Raven, Raven, her sweet _Raven_.

They’re well past foreplay – Irene’s head down between Raven’s thighs, her wife’s fingers tangled in her hair which must be grey-streaked instead of white, judging from the moderate, backpain-less age her body has been resurrected into – and Irene’s bathrobe must long be ruined with grass and sweat stains, when Irene feels the rippling change in the eddies of probability and resurfaces just in time to gasp, “Cover yourself!”

Even though she herself is a lost cause, the least she can do is let Raven preserve her dignity in front of her own flesh and blood.

There’s a _bamf_ and then the rushing of displaced air, closely followed by the grossed-out shrieks of two people and the sound of a body hitting the floor.

“Ow, dayum. Kurt, you’re the worst way ta travel ever,” groans Rogue from floor level, and Irene can feel Raven’s scales bristle and smooth down again under her fingers even as her own heart soars at the sound of her daughter’s voice.

“Children,” her beautiful, gorgeous shapeshifting wife growls, effectively nipping Kurt’s high-pitched “What are you-?” in the bud before she scrambles up and Irene feels her bathing gown being draped over her shoulders. “How much did you see?”

“Enough that Ah won’t ever sleep again,” Rogue says. There’s only consternated silence from Kurt.

Raven huffs. “You’ll say hello to your Mum this evening at the Oracle. She’s occupied right now.”

“I am indeed, my two beautiful sunflowers,” Irene follows up, deeming it wiser not to turn around considering what her tongue has been up to just seconds ago. “But just know that I love you very much and that I would be very sorry you two had to see that if it wasn’t also partly the fault of your own spontaneity–”

“Okay, good, we get it: The old omniscient seer’s back in town.” Even as she says it, Rogue sounds everything but bitter. Kurt joins in cheerily with, “Hello, Mama! Ve’re happy to have you back.”

“So am I,” Raven murmurs, and then she takes one hand from Irene’s covered shoulders, probably to make a shooing motion, and commands, “Great, now get back to seducing half the island and making more mutants, won’t you?”

There are groans of embarrassment mixed with disappointment before Rogue sighs and says, “Alright. Kurt, let’s getcha back to Logan and Ororo.” Then, all that is left of Irene’s children is a faint scent of sulphur on the breeze and the sound of air rushing into the spot they occupied only the blink of an eye ago.

Raven’s giggle makes her breast shake in Irene’s searching grasp. “Well, that was anticlimactic.”

“Oh, but we can work with anticlimactic, can’t we?” Irene replies, revelling in the even brighter burst of laughter it earns her, washing over her like a warm gust of wind.

“We can,” Raven says when she’s calmed down sufficiently to speak. “Now, I think you were onto something?”

Of course. Irene doesn’t even have to reply, she just shucks the bathing gown off again and waits until Raven has laid back down, thighs spread wide and open to bracket Irene’s head when she grasps at them, marvels at their firm softness.

“You haven’t aged a day,” she murmurs, and before Raven can answer, she is leaning forward, putting her tongue back to good use.

Raven’s tartness is slick against her lips, almost overwhelming, and good God has she missed this. Eagerly, she licks between her wife’s searing folds, tongues her clit, slips a finger into her tight heat and hums contentedly when Raven clenches down around it, moaning. Soon, she’ll add a second finger, and then a third, pump them up and down and up and down until Raven is spasming around them, squirming while heady gasps and pleas tumble from her lips and her hand is tangled in Irene’s hair.

Raven always makes the sweetest noises when she comes.

“Irene,” her wife is groaning right now, “Irenie, my Irenie,” and Irene reaches one hand up to palm Raven’s breast, gently pinching the tender nipple between her fingertips until Raven’s own hand comes to wrap around them and draws them up to her lips where she can place searing kisses onto Irene’s knuckles.

“Please,” she gasps finally, “please, come up here, I want to see you.”

Irene complies instantaneously, tongue slipping from between Raven’s legs so she can nip at her wife’s collarbone instead, giggling when a hand cups her jaw and directs her further upwards for their lips to meet.

Raven’s voice is wet-hot and quivering when she says, “I missed you, Irene. I missed you so much, and I won’t survive it if I ever lose you again.”

“I’m here now, my Raven, my beautiful dove,” Irene murmurs and kisses the tears away, their salt burning on her swollen lips. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Raven draws in a breath of pure hope, of pure despair and decades of loneliness. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

When dusk begins to fall and the woods truly come to life with cries both from predators and prey, Raven takes them back to her humble abode near the Oracle.

“You promised me chocolate-chip cereal,” Irene proclaims while she explores the extensive corridors of the bungalow with her cane, where the furniture is already pushed back against the wall, all chairs and drawers are neatly stored away and tactile strips for easier navigation have been taped to the floor. Curious, Irene reaches for the chest-height part of a wall beside a doorframe – and sure enough, there is a plaque with a braille inscription designating the room beyond as a storage chamber.

“The packaging says it’s for breakfast, though,” Raven calls from the kitchen, a teasing lilt to her voice.

Irene turns around and starts making her way back to her wife, palms brushing over the surface of the furniture to get acquainted where she can. There’s basketwork, sleek, dust-free metal and the familiarly chipped heaviness of antiques – and yet, the flow of the floor feels far too organic, the way it bleeds into the walls seamlessly if Irene’s cane is to be trusted.

“So Krakoa grew all this,” she says when she walks through the doorway of the kitchen, following the markers on the floor and the pull of her powers. “Remarkable.”

“Krakoa provides.” Raven is by her side in an instant, arms wrapping around Irene’s shoulders like an eager octopus’ tentacles. “And it does far more than that. I thought we could visit London tomorrow, and then make a detour to your favourite gelateria in Rome…”

“That sounds lovely.” Irene busses a kiss against her wife’s cheek, smiling when she feels her blush under her lips. Some things just never change. “But first, a shower and then cereal, yes?”

Raven leans into her, uncaring about both their stickiness, the smudges of Krakoan soil and grass on Irene’s bathrobe, and buries her nose in Irene’s hair. Her arms around Irene are very, very tight, and so firm and secure and warm that nothing could break them apart, no war, no self-righteous man, not even the end of the world – Irene is certain of that.

“There are no words for how happy I am to have you back,” Raven murmurs, pressing into the touch of Irene’s hand on her waist.

“Raven, my Raven,” Irene whispers right back, “There is no need to tell me. Believe me, I know.” She takes her fingers from her wife’s hips to thread them through Raven’s silky soft hair instead, to caress those cheekbones of which she has memorised the shape decades ago. “I am oh-so happy to be back with you, too. And now, there is nothing we cannot achieve – after all, we have a hundred lifetimes to spend together.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, kudos and especially comments are very welcome - they are what keeps authors going in the fandom. Your feedback matters to me!


End file.
